


oh, mother

by onetrueobligation



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
Genre: Gen, Vignette, honestly i dont really know how to describe this, i think, inspired by me thinking 'i bet maria dolokhov is a gr8 mother', probably just ramblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:33:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23408350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onetrueobligation/pseuds/onetrueobligation
Summary: mothers of war and peace, through the generations.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	oh, mother

Nataly is a stern mother, always has been. It is part of her charm, so Ilya tells her. But Tasha is, and always has been her soft spot. At night, when Tasha is young, they will curl up in each other’s arms and Nataly will tell her darling daughter bedtime stories until the little girl has drifted off to sleep against her breast. And then Nataly will finally, privately allow herself to marvel at how lucky she is.

Aline is a distant mother, always has been. She watched her eldest grow up first, clumsy and useless and bookish as he was. She waited for him to grow out of it. He did not. Her second child was a girl, for which Aline was grateful, until her body began to mature, and her beauty began to outshine that of her mother. She was a desirable girl, suitors flocking to her side, something which Aline never had. And her third child was little more than a troublemaker, a nuisance around the house and a scoundrel outside of it. Now, they are all grown, and Aline is brought no joy from them.

Maria is an understanding mother, always has been. She has understood many things about her children. She understood her crippled daughter, and understood that she would never live the life Maria wanted for her. She understood her lonely son, from the day she found him huddled under the stairs, clumsily kissing and touching an older boy from the school. She understood this world would not be as understanding toward her children as she. And she understood that meant she would have to hold them ever closer.

Helene is not a mother, never has been. Perhaps it was her own childhood, her mother’s jealousy and coldness that made the idea repulsive to her. The connotations of motherhood to her are ugly and foreign. They don’t belong with her. And, perhaps she feels some strange stab of sympathy for the wretched thing kicking and clawing inside of her. If it lived, what sort of a life would it really have? A bastard child, born into scandal and scorn? Any child of hers would bear it as poorly as she. _And that, dear little beast,_ she murmurs to her abdomen as she lay on her bed, one dainty little hand clutching her dubious medication, _is why neither of us shall suffer this cruel world any longer._

Mary is a patient mother, always happy simply to care for her little ones however she can. To see their bright, plump little faces, and the way Nikolai treats them with a tenderness she’s never seen, is more than reward enough for her. She helps them with their studies, comforts them when they cry, cares for their wounds when they fall and scrape a knee or elbow. Sometimes the governess asks why she has been hired at all, when Mary seems determined to be with them as often as possible. But Mary knows the value of a relationship with a parent, and hopes one day, when she is old and frail, the same kindness will be shown to her. The kindness she never felt.

Natasha is a happy mother, always has been, her childish personality giving way to a more quiet, caring side which Pierre has never seen. She plays with the children when they ask, more often than not insisting that he join them too, and he can never deny her. He cannot deny her anything. She is his world, the light in a dark sky that changed everything, and he sees it reflected in their children every day. A better mother he could never find.

* * *

_Sveta is a lonely mother, but she wasn’t always. There were days when she was a girl, when she was happy and carefree, and the soldiers would visit and she would hide behind her father and watch them with wide eyes. She was only a girl when one caught her gaze and held it. And then he held her, held her in his arms and laid her down and told her it wouldn’t hurt a bit. And then, for a while, he stayed, and all was well. She was happy. When she told him, she wanted him to be happy. She expected him to propose, to declare his love and vow to stay with her always. She didn’t expect her father to be the one to force the marriage. She didn’t expect him to ride away as soon as the documents were signed. She waited and waited for her prince to return, for her child’s father to take her back, but there were only ever cold letters and enough money to last them the month. Her child never saw his face._

**Author's Note:**

> this is pure sad nonsense but please leave kudos and a comment for me and check out my profile if miraculously you enjoyed reading this


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